Death Note: Actualization
by Violentcitizen
Summary: Lucas Yeager is killing criminals: that much was inevitable. Now, however, he's set his sights much higher; it was time to fix this rotten world. (AU rewrite)


He was bored.

Bored without purpose, bored without cause, he was simply irritated with the lack of activity in his life.

The word was said so many times in his mind's eye, dissecting it's origin from the many languages it could be traced through, using a few seconds in his brain to practice his recall.

It was perfect.

He used his long, pale, fingers to pull the hair out of his vision and back onto his head. The contents of the room were no less interesting than the dull brown from before; In fact, they seemed _more_ boring.

He was at his desk, with the monitor aimed at his face blaring some TV show that his 'friends' seemed to love. Millions of tiny electrical switches, working in groups to process the electricity and use it to calculate the details of each pixel, calculate the way the people on screen moved to a degree almost (soon, they said) indistinguishable from reality. Some people used them to watch cats dance.

He had thought that leaving school early would give him a goal, something more challenging to excel at. He had taken the SAT, ACT, all the tests they could give him, they had accelerated his schoolwork until they decided to stop, finding it difficult to continue. He just looked at the book, read, and regurgitated it onto the test.

thwack

He heard it, first raising his head, glancing around, then opening his door and calling out.

"Mom, is that you?"

The soundproofing almost completely eliminated all distractions from his environment (he had taken a few days to install it, and regretted it for the next two years.) He looked out his window, to the sunny winter wonderland outside, and saw a small black rectangle lying in the white. He stared at the sky, at the vast expanse of pale blue, and saw nothing but void. He scratched his clean shaven chin.

Luke opened his door once again, striding to the spacious connector room and descended the stairs. He reached the hall, and put on his long coat and a pair of chocolate brown boots. He opened the door, and a blast of frigid air smacked into him, while he grit his teeth and left the house. He circled around the corner, before spotting the small notebook and wading towards it.

"Why am I doing this?" He asked himself for a fleeting second.

He looked down at the object, a black notebook with two words written on it in plain, purposeful English. "It's cold." He grumbled, before bending down, clutching it between his forefingers and thumb, and pocketing it and returning to the house.

He would have sworn that the book was colder than the snow it laid on, but he himself was warmer the minute he touched it.

_**DEATH NOTE**_

* * *

><p>The man with dark hair and the screen were having a staring contest; it started the war, but it only escalated from there. In time, L would look away, but <em>now<em> was not that time. Suddenly, the man who was droning on stopped, before asking if he had heard and understood all the terms. L grunted absent-mindedly. His computer had been programmed to change that into a more formal, "yes, I understand.".

He tuned it out with half his mind, quickly accessing the set of groceries stored in his subconscious, calculating the distance to each supermarket and then the distance from his base; he settled for a local establishment just north of the highway. Accounting for traffic, he decided on a route to his house, before his thoughts returned to the conversation.

He caught a blinking light in the corner of his eye, and he pressed the J button and then pushed the L button in, as static filled his speakers. It started with a peppy commercial for cat food, before the crackling enveloped all noise, leaving only void.

'Watari..?' He asked, assuming that he was able to answer. Watari didn't respond, until the little flashing light returned.

'13559'

It was an autotuned voice, speaking as though it was a phone number rather than a code. Decoding it quickly in his head, and assuming that it was sent on purpose, he turned on the projector again, quickly turning into the news with a quick scroll and shortcut.

People. Dead. Bodies. Untraceable. In fascination he watched: taking careful notes in his mind's eye, storing them in his mind palace for the upcoming investigation. he smiled as they revealed their information, how the people were killed, who the police suspect, and how they deflected the press's questions. He gave it a few days, tops, but it was better than watching gang leaders abuse each other in their hideouts and watching them take each other out without rhyme or reason.

He turned off the projector, closing his laptop and placing it back into his briefcase. The barren room was devoid of all comforts except a solitary desk and a single lawn chair, which had a large projector that should not be moved, ever. He turned on the light switch, and then off again in a pattern. In fifteen minutes, there would be a lone figure who would enter this room, dusting off this room and rewiring all the lights and alarms so they wouldn't be triggered by his cellphone for another three days. L would wait for three days. He _could._ Right?

He was driving to his house with a large carton of milk, and several paper bags of groceries that seemed to disappear within one day regardless of if anyone ate them or not. He pulled into his large suburban home, before he parked and returned home, his hunt over. He checked his inbox, and, finding it empty, entered his house. His wife was passed out on the couch, and Michael was playing on his DS, a huge bottle of soda under his arm.

"Hi, dad." He said, almost as robotically as a phone booth.

"What are you doing with that bottle?" He asked, before seizing it and placing it in the spacious pantry. He sighed, placing his suitcase on the center table and sitting on the couch. Nobody stirred for an eternity, until he heard light footsteps coming from the staircase. Nate descended the stairs, a small doll snuggled in his elbow. he clambered onto the couch, before clutching the teddy bear and drifting to dreamland.

Elijah sighed softly, before relaxing his tired mind for a while. He could wait, after all.

* * *

><p>It was only a matter of time until Lucas <em>tried <em>the thing; curiosity was something even _he_ could not resist for an extended period. He pulled a standard pencil out of his drawer, flipped the little journal open again, and reread the almost mechanically written rules.

_Death Note _

_How to Use the Death Note_

_Rule set I_

_When a name is written in the Death Note, all owners of that name will die._

_If you picture a particular human's face while writing their name, then only that person will die._

_All deaths in the note are final._

_Once the name is written, one may write details of the death, provided that the cause of death is physically and mentally possible for the victim to do. Any deaths listed to take place after one human month will not occur._

_Any names written incorrectly more than two times will render the notebook useless on the humans who own the name for twenty-four (24) hours in the standard human time._

_Once a name is written, upon closing the notebook, the people whose names are written in the notebook will die, unless specified to do so at a later time. Any names scheduled to die before the notebook is closed will not be killed. In other words, closing the notebook triggers the deaths._

_If a name is written without a cause of death, the victim will die of spontaneous cardiac arrest as soon as the book is closed._

_Once the notebook is closed, all names will disappear from the book._

_When a human owns a notebook, they can see the lifespans of all creatures around him._

"Well, you have to give points for creativity."

He turned on the TV, cutting to the news before placing the pencil to paper and waiting. It was a second before he heard that familiar melody, and then an urgent reporter yelled out facts in front of a large group of officers in the lower metro area.

"This is 243 news, reporting live from downtown! I'm…"

He tuned out for a second, before focusing again.

"It appears the robber has taken a large group of hostages, and is now using them to escape the building.."

Lucas sighed, before leaning back.

"This just in! The assailant has been identified! Roger Thamier, 43, is keeping a group of 23 people down with an unknown weapon…"

In neat, block, letters, he wrote down the name: he waited for a few seconds, before closing the book with a crisp _snap_. He looked back at the screen, smiling slightly and then shaking his head.. But then, the impossible happened.

It _worked._


End file.
